


Day 4: Superstar

by MariaLujan



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: 12 Days of Smutmas, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love and all that, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28091088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaLujan/pseuds/MariaLujan
Summary: Christmas season 4
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19
Collections: Twelve Days of Turnadette Smutmas





	Day 4: Superstar

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This resulted in something long that I also placed not exactly on Christmas, but let's say December 23 (if I put it on Christmas the children were there and I needed those children to be outside giving their parents PEACE) after the BBC recording in the Poplar church with choir and the babies etc etc etc.  
> Happy Christmas and Happy Smutmas!

Shelagh looked at her bare legs and feet, and wiggled her toes.

It was snowing heavily outside, but inside, the house it was hot, and Patrick was always a human furnace, so she could be naked, in bed, staring at her legs and feet without feeling almost any cold.

She smiled a little, Patrick had told her many, many times that he loved her legs and that she was beautiful, so she ended up believing him. At least tonight, when the adrenaline from singing in front of television cameras was still running through her veins, she thought she was beautiful.

She looked at the alarm clock, it was not even three in the morning. The light of her lamp was still on, many things happened in the previous hours that made her forget completely to turn off the light and then she was too exhausted to reach out and press the button to turn it off.

She was more alert now and should wash her body, but she felt too beautiful, warm, and satisfied to get out of bed, and she just did not want to turn off the light either.

She wanted to observe herself and observe him.

She looked to her side to see Patrick. He was face down, stretched out and taking up most of the bed, snoring slightly. His hair was messy, his face was calm, and his back was bare, with the blankets wrapped around his waist. His left hand rested near her but not touching her, and Shelagh took it gently, gazing at it with attention. She loved his hands as much as his smile, his kind eyes, his crazy hair, and everything about him.

She never knew much about love, but she knew that it was common that after a certain time of marriage, all the novelty and the initial infatuation would diminish. The last few weeks were a chaos of measles-infected children; choirs done and undone; arguments with that old toad of the BBC; the wonderful and unexpected appearance of Iris' baby; and the much less wonderful disappearance of Sister Monica Joan. Also, her work, her family with a teenager and a baby, and the arrival of Christmas. All that routine and at the same time that disorder made Shelagh barely see her husband, or that she only saw him asleep or running from here to there. But, if at some point, alone, she felt that routine and disorder would be permanently installed in her marriage, now she knew she was wrong.

That night, as she tried to overcome her nerves and raise her voice in church, her eyes found Patrick, who was looking at her with pride and love written all over his face, and Shelagh felt the warm certainty of knowing she was happy and in love. Life could be challenging at times, but they continued together, more than the first day, with the same love and the same surprise of knowing that they were united and loved.

She stroked Patrick's hand slowly, almost reverently touched his ring, the same one she wore. She kissed his fingers one by one, careful not to wake him. With days like they had, Patrick deserved a smooth sleep.

She sighed, gently stroking his arm. As much as she respected his sleep, she also wanted to wake him up. A night just to them was a rare gift they rarely had, and Patrick had been overjoyed when, after the church recording, Timothy asked to stay with his granny to visit her before Christmas and also to take a break from the hectic artist life in Poplar. The Nonnatuns, still sensitive to Iris's baby and everything they had experienced with Sister Monica Joan, practically kidnapped Angela, and suddenly, amid the congratulations and joy for meeting the cameras, Shelagh found herself alone with her husband.

So as soon as they closed the door of the house, her husband almost ripped her uniform from her body and she laughed at his despair but also gave herself to that madness, because she had missed him so much in all those days.

Then they collapsed into a jumble of limbs and clothes, weary from everything, and now she was there, staring at Patrick's hand, thinking about everything that had happened that night, the days before, her entire year: her family, her return to work, the recovery of Patrick. She was grateful and also eager for what was to come this unusual Christmas where she would see herself on television, along with her friends and colleagues. Shelagh smiled excitedly, overwhelmed by the quiet happiness that filled her at that moment.

She looked at Patrick, who was still asleep. There was now a half smile on his face.

_“What is he dreaming about?”_ she thought, and bit her lip to stifle her own laughter. She kissed each knuckle on his hand, very gently, so that he could continue his happy dream.

She had to resign herself and not wake him up, but the memories of their desperate encounter that very night were popping into her mind and suddenly that blinding need she felt for him began to grow.

She also thought that this would diminish this feeling of emptiness when he was not kissing and touching her. But no, there was always that demand of her own body, _more_. It was a fire that could swallow her and that scared her sometimes, the way she always needed him. At first, she thought it was his fault, that sometimes he fixed his eyes on her like a wolf looks at its prey and she felt her skin and everything on her rising. But she soon discovered that it was not Patrick's fault, for example at that very moment he was asleep, smiling in dreams, completely oblivious to what she was thinking, and yet she felt that same barbaric need growing inside just by having his warm hand between hers, knowing exactly what those hands could do to her.

Frustrated, she stroked his arm, this time no longer delicately, but with the intention of waking him, but he continued to sleep as if nothing was happening. She looked at the ceiling, an internal voice saying her that she should leave her husband alone. They already had their moment together, now it was time to rest and prepare for Christmas Eve.

She swallowed hard, her throat felt dry, her breathing heavy.

_“I need you,”_ she thought, and became more frustrated knowing that she would not be able to wake him up and say it out loud. She was very far from the shy girl she was, now she really was a bold girl, but sometimes it was so difficult to say “I want this”.

But tonight, she was a superstar. Patrick told her, outside the church: “You are a superstar.”

She laughed, but he said it again at home, very serious, as he kissed her and bit her neck, pressing her against the wall of the living room, unable to contain himself anymore.

“You are a superstar and millions will see you, but you are mine.”

How possessive that sounded, but she liked it.

He had also behaved like this two days before, when he pulled her arm and pressed her against the same wall, before she left to meet with the BBC man and with Reverend Hereward. Patrick told her in her ear how pretty she looked in her coat, her hat, her earrings, and remarked how envious he was that she was spending her afternoon with “those two useless guys” instead of with him.

She should have reprimanded him, told him that she did this for the community or a similar speech, but her husband's words made her feel strong, wanted by him, powerful for driving him crazy.

Shelagh noticed that her breathing became more agitated.

“Enough, Shelagh,” she told herself, but did not act according.

She wanted him, and she would have him.

She took Patrick's sleeping hand, kissed each finger gently, and then rested it on her waist. She looked at herself, he was right, she was beautiful, but more beautiful with that big hand there, with that strong arm crossing her torso, giving her more heat.

She stroked his arm, up and down, her fingers like feathers on his shoulder. There was a little snort, but he continued to dream.

Shelagh moved his hand against the side of her hip, then higher, feeling her breathing speed up more. Then, with both of her hands, she spread his callused fingers like a ripe fruit, and put his hand on her right breast.

She gasped and smiled, Patrick's warmth mixing with her satisfaction making her close the eyes for a moment.

She rubbed their legs together, suddenly the need to have Patrick right there became overwhelming. She opened her eyes, looked at the hand, smiled again. She never had enough time to see how well his hands encircled her breasts, but now she had the light on, Patrick was not distracting her, her eyes were open, and she could think that indeed, they were made for each other.

But the tender thought fell apart very fast, her blood seemed to rush to pool in her belly and lower, and she felt her heart beating there.

She closed her eyes again, trying to resist, but, how to do it when Patrick was so close, burning her?

_“There is no reason to suppress this, Shelagh, not anymore.”_

She withdrew his hand from her breast and kissed his fingers again, and then rested it on her chest. She made it travel very slowly down her belly, until it reached her navel. Necessity fought her mind again. Was it fair to Patrick that she was doing this?

She heard another snort, the hand twitched slightly and relaxed. Shelagh did not think about it anymore, slightly spreading her legs, she plunged her husband's hand into her center.

Her eyelids tightened at the sensation, a small, almost inaudible moan rumbled in her throat.

“There, Patrick, right there,” she whispered.

She opened her eyes, turned her head a little to look at him, and barely moved his hand there. She bit her lower lip to prevent another moan.

But she saw him open his eyes and immediately all the desire vanished and she jumped in shock, jerking off Patrick's hand, sitting up on the bed.

“What happens?” Patrick asked, his voice hoarse and completely confused by sleep.

“Sorry, Patrick, sorry,” she murmured. She felt ashamed and stupid but did not quite understand why she felt like this either.

A cheeky grin broke out on Patrick's face as he looked at his own hand and her face.

“What were you doing?” he settled on his side to get a good look at her. Shelagh felt herself blush furiously and immediately leaned forward to find a sheet and cover herself.

“Nothing.”

Patrick took the sheet and pulled it away, laying her naked before him.

“What were you doing?” he repeated. His smile was Machiavellian, there was no longer a trace of sleep, and she swallowed hard, not knowing whether to lie or tell him the truth.

“You were touching yourself,” he said with shocking naturalness.

“No,” she denied, feeling even more stupid. It was useless trying to lie to him, not when surely her entire face was flushed.

He laughed, stretched out the hand that she previously had between her legs and rested it on her waist, to bring her closer to him. Shelagh resisted a bit, not sure how to proceed, but Patrick sat down next to her and hugged her.

“You're right,” he whispered, bringing his mouth to her ear, and kissing her ear. His hands were now on her back, her waist, her thighs, everywhere, “You weren't touching yourself, you were using my hand to do it.”

She tried to pull away, but he took her chin.

“My naughty girl.”

“I'm sorry…”

Patrick covered her mouth with his lips, giving her a lust-laden kiss, all lips, tongue, and teeth, and forced her to lie down again, pushing aside all the sheets and blankets as if they were something offensive. He leaned over her, pressing her against the mattress. Shelagh wrapped her arms around his back and spread her legs, suddenly she no longer felt ashamed, but the intoxicating need of him was taking all her reason, and she just wanted Patrick to come in and fill her, she just wanted to feel him there and everywhere.

Patrick pulled away from her mouth and looked at her. She saw that same need in his eyes and reached out to kiss him again, but he did not go to her mouth, but to her neck. Contrary to what she thought, he did not kiss her hard, but gave her a small kiss there, and others all over her neck, her jaw, her cheeks.

The suffocating despair subsided a bit, giving way to the tenderness of knowing that Patrick wanted to take his time with her. And she loved when he did that, because it lengthened their moments together, until she believed that they would never end and that they could stay there, making love forever.

“You're beautiful,” he repeated several times between kisses, and she smiled.

“I know.”

He raised his face, looked at her in surprise.

“I can't believe it, you accept it!”

“You make me feel beautiful.”

Patrick kissed her lips, a little kiss before looking at her again. He brushed strands of her hair, she did the same with his, which fell on his forehead.

“You were perfect tonight,” he whispered, “So beautiful in your uniform, your little white frilly hat...Everyone was admiring you, and at Christmas the whole country will see you and wonder who is that beautiful girl with such beautiful voice?”

“Patrick...” she started to say, feeling the blush grow on her face. She was not the only one who sang there, there were other wonderful people, but he was not willing to let her continue.

“Shh,” he put an index finger to her lips, “Nothing would have been possible without you.”

She smiled, kissed the finger resting on her lips.

“Thank you. If you didn't support me...“

“I did nothing.”

“Oh yes, you do a lot Patrick,” she reached up and gave him a little kiss on the lips, “Thanks to you I'm Mrs Turner and everyone trusts me for that and every time they address me like that I feel...pride, satisfaction. It makes me want to say _"yes, I am Turner's wife, that wonderful man."_ ”

He smiled, a smile full of love and devotion and very gently caressed one of her cheeks. She could see in his eyes how he adored her, and she wanted to see him staring at her like this all night but she needed more.

She moved her legs, pushed them apart a bit more, and Patrick's adoring smile changed to a much more mischievous smile, as he arched an eyebrow.

“Well, I think this TV superstar is a bit desperate for attention, and since I'm her biggest fan, I should give it to her.”

She gave a sudden laugh. This ridiculous man. He could be touching her, making her shiver and beg, and suddenly he could say such nonsense to her and make her laugh.

“My fan?”

“Of course I’m your fan, your loyal admirer. I need your autograph.”

Shelagh cupped his face with both hands and looked at him seriously. She urgently needed to take action.

“I know very well where to leave my autograph, and with all my love.”

She lifted her hips to meet his hard erection, which she had felt growing too close and too far from where she wanted it. Patrick's lids tightened, barely complaining. Instinctively he pressed against her, stifled a groan, and she pulled more of him.

But he withdrew, shaking his head.

“I insist, today you are the superstar and you deserve everything.”

“Patrick enough of that, I'm not playing games,” her voice came out stern, she was too excited to be more patient.

Patrick lowered his mouth to her neck, this time not to give her a little kiss but to let his lips and tongue suck and nibble. Shelagh could feel one of his hands on her waist, moving up and down to the edge of her breasts, but not touching them, and down to her hips and thighs, very gently.

“Everyone will love your voice,” Patrick said in her ear, “and I love your voice when you sing too, but I love your voice more when you do this.”

Suddenly Shelagh felt his hand between her legs, his fingers sinking into the wet folds at her center and she let out a sudden loud moan. She heard Patrick laugh barely and then, to her surprise, she felt him withdraw his hand from there.

Before she could control herself, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, forcing his hand to stay there. Patrick chuckled some more, his mouth returning to her lips as his fingers worked there, stroking just barely, forcing her to move her hips to meet them.

She let out a frustrated groan and Patrick pulled away from her mouth and looked at her. His eyes were dark, penetrating, and suddenly Shelagh felt something akin to fear, as if he, too, sensed that fierce need she had, and he would consume her.

“Show me where you put my hand while I was sleeping.”

She nodded at the demand in his voice, trembling, but reached out to take his hand and put it exactly where she wanted it. Patrick smiled, kissed her lips, licked them, letting her guide his hand.

Shelagh moaned, louder this time, still moving Patrick's hand over her, searching for the places where she wanted it most, with the speed and pressure she wanted, trying to feel every part of that big hand touching that wetter place. She wrapped her free hand around the nape of his neck, forcing him down to her lips to kiss him briefly and then tugged at his hair.

“Here,” she demanded with a groan, pulling him to bring his mouth to her breasts. She felt him smile before kissing and sucking, making her shiver, completely in need of more stimulation everywhere.

She could feel her hot wetness seeping into her fingers and Patrick's fingers, anticipating what was coming, and she forcing him to go faster. This was something new, he always seemed to know where it was best, where his touch was most needed, she did not interfere, in fact she did not even dare to touch herself, and now, as she did it with his hand…

She pursed her lips as the orgasm began to wash over her slowly, in her eyes exploding all kinds of colors. She knew she was grinning uncontrollably, and she stopped moving, absorbing every millisecond of satisfaction, feeling relieved to let go of the ravenous despair that consumed her.

Back to reality, Patrick slowly withdrew their hands, knowing how sensitive she could be there once it was all over. Blood was still pumping in her ears, and he smiled at her, kissed her cheeks tenderly. She reached out her arms to hug him, and he pressed against her.

She sighed contently.

Suddenly he pulled away, leaning on the mattress so as not to crush her. He was looking at her seriously and Shelagh knew that when he looked at her like that, in a special way, it meant that he wanted to propose something, and that made her even more excited.

“A while ago I knew of something I want to do with you but I needed us to be alone because I know that your clear and sweet voice could be heard.”

She arched an eyebrow, he laughed.

“Don't look at me like that, you know well that you are very...vocal to express your...emotions. And if we're going to do this, I know you will be more.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” she purred, stroking his chest and shoulders.

“Oh, you won't do anything but scream, I'll do the entire job.”

She pursed her lips, trying to stifle her embarrassment and laughter, and nodded.

“Alright then.”

He smiled tenderly although his eyes belied it.

His lips returned to her mouth for a brief moment before taking care of her neck, her collarbones, and reaching her breasts again. His dominant hand was there as well, and Shelagh remembered when a few moments before, she had put that hand in that breast. A moan left her mouth, and she felt him smiling against her skin, as with agonizing slowness he tortured a nipple with his dancing tongue.

She felt the powerful need again appear and build. She still did not understand how this happened, how she could be so satisfied and moments later so desperate for the same thing.

She complained, tugging at his hair, spreading her legs a little.

“Have a little patience, superstar,” he whispered with a smile.

His mouth left her breasts and accompanied his hands on a journey down her torso. Shelagh lifted her hips, knowing he would direct his lips there. Anticipation made everything twist inside her and melt, knowing what his lips and tongue could give her.

Patrick settled between her legs, cupped her hips with his two large hands. She felt his mouth enclose her throbbing bud, his tongue slowly parting her folds, playing with them. She put a hand to her mouth, though she made no sound, her throat seemed unable to express in any way what was happening through her body.

She quickly collapsed, so fast that she was surprised by how unexpected it was.

Patrick laughed, obviously amused at her bewilderment. He placed soft kisses on her hipbones and moved closer to her face.

“Patrick,” she said, wetting her lips with her tongue. She stretched her arms weakly towards him, “Patrick, come.”

She saw him prepared and ready for her, and she wanted him inside, complete.

“Not yet my love,” he whispered.

God, what more did he want? She needed him filling her, connected to her body. He reached over, kissed her lips, his fingers wrapped around her breast, then down her belly. Before she could react, they were there again, gently touching her between her legs, as if testing how sensitive or ready she was.

“Please,” she said, or maybe she thought so, because she could not get the words out.

She could not believe that she wanted even more, that despite feeling exhausted her body was ready for more and more, and that she was begging for it.

She looked at Patrick, his face focused, evidently analyzing her and Shelagh thought it was all his fault. He caused her these things, he made her die of love just by seeing him. She smiled, even though he was not looking at her.

She felt that his fingers were there, moving very slowly and one of them was approaching her entrance and entering, very slowly too.

_“Is not enough,”_ she thought.

Her greed was immediately rewarded by another finger, entering very gently.

She gasped, and gulped. She felt him pull them back a little, her lids tightened.

Then, as if he was doing a magic trick, she felt something else. A deep strange and completely debilitating sensation, which made her gasp harder. She opened her eyes, he was watching her intently, smiling too proudly. She felt his fingers enter again, and again did something. She could feel that they moved differently when they retreated.

She moaned louder this time, one of her hands went to his shoulder, squeezing him, trying to hold on with her nails.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes… No!” she replied, completely incoherent.

This was new, almost painful but she needed it to continue.

Patrick withdrew his fingers, she looked at him scared that he would not continue to do this to her. She saw him suck on the fingers of his left hand, the same one she had been watching and kissing.

“Relax,” he said and she closed her eyes, ready to feel that sensation again.

His fingers invaded her, touched her, and withdrew. She could feel his thumb press on her clit, caress it. A whole set of unmanageable sensations. Once, twice, three times, so slow it drew a small, ragged cry from her. She felt more and more intensity building up and she believed she would explode into pieces.

Helpless, she cried out the fourth time, clenching her fists on the sheets, even wanting to cry. There was something that threatened to overflow, she was even afraid of that.

She opened her eyes, her gaze asking him what was going on, whether she should hold back or let herself be carried away. Patrick looked completely spellbound as he looked at her.

“Just let yourself go, my love,” he whispered and his fingers entered two more times, withdrawing faster.

She arched her back, something inside broke and emptied. Very distantly she could hear her own cry of doomed to this new and disconcerting pleasure.

When she came back to consciousness, she did not know if a second or an hour had passed. Patrick was between her legs, kissing her inner thighs, caressing her hips, repeating over and over that he loved her.

Suddenly she realized the wetness on her legs, on the bed. It was too much.

She sat up, scared.

“Shh easy darling,” he said. He kissed her mouth, but she pulled away, sitting up.

“Patrick, why...” she was terrified. If she had peed all over her, this was a tragedy.

He seemed to read her thoughts and smiled, not mockingly, but lovingly and understandingly. He sat down next to her.

“Don’t worry, it's just your ejaculation.”

She looked at him without understanding.

“Women can have it too, but it's easier if a little point inside you is stimulated. I didn't think we'd find it that fast,” he kissed the tip of her nose, his hands cupped her face, “Calm down, it's just a liquid and it tastes good. Like a sweet and intoxicating liquor. “

Shelagh hugged him, feeling relieved and completely drained. She still had her vision a little cloudy and her head dizzy, as if she was drunk.

She barely laughed at that thought.

“Are you feeling okay, superstar?” Patrick said, turning away from her.

“Yes,” she smiled at him, “But what about you?”

Shelagh looked down, his erection even harder and stronger. She was satisfied and happy, but he also needed attention, after all, that's what superstars did with their fans, give them a little affection.

She reached up one of her hands to wrap it around him and was surprised when she noticed how big and hard he was. Patrick dropped his head on her shoulder.

“Shelagh don't do it, I feel like I can come at any moment.”

“Well that's what I want,” she laughed a little, and slid her fingers down his shaft.

She heard him groan.

“No, no,” he begged and she was going to insist but he pulled her hand away firmly and his mouth plundered hers, his tongue invading her, and he laid her down, crushing her on the bed.

Shelagh complained about the force he was using, but she did not want him to stop either.

She still felt exhausted and even sore from the sensations she had just had, but still she needed this, she needed him to fully enter her, she needed him to empty himself, and she needed him to feel her warmth and her flesh around him.

She felt him enter, stronger than other times and they groaned together. Patrick stood still for a few seconds, his hands were on the mattress to avoid crushing her and Shelagh opened her eyes, to see how he held himself back, how his forehead dripped sweat from the effort. She moved her hips, he had already given her so many indescribable sensations, she wanted him to feel them too.

She urged him to go faster, deeper, with more force, she wrapped her legs around his waist, looking for him to go deeper. In few hard thrusts, her body exploded again, her flesh clinging to him, and she immediately felt him tense, growl and finally spill completely.

He flopped down on her, biting weakly at one of her shoulders. She closed her eyes and smiled, the feeling as good as ever, less intense than the previous ones, but deeper with him where she wanted him.

Patrick wanted to pull away from her, but she did not let him. She needed to have him a little more time.

He shakily stood up, and looked at her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I feel like a superstar. “

They both laughed and he rolled over, hugging her. They immediately fell asleep.

****

On Christmas Day, everyone was waiting for the broadcast. Timothy struggled to get the antenna to pick up the signal well until Nonnatus's new television was able to display an acceptable picture.

Shelagh felt the tears pricking her eyes. They had done it, they had done something beautiful, unique, sacred, and many people with their families or alone were seeing this, sharing the same moment and feeling touched by the magic of Christmas.

She felt Patrick's hand cover hers, squeezing gently. She sighed in happiness.

When it was all over and they applauded themselves, Patrick wrapped an arm around her waist.

“You were perfect, superstar.”

“Thank you, my dear fan.”

He laughed, looked at the others, who seemed oblivious to them.

“You are beautiful and I love you,” he whispered in her ear, “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, darling. I love you,” she said, looking into his eyes. Patrick looked in all directions and leaned closer to her. He left a small kiss on her lips. There was pure fascination in his eyes, and Shelagh stroked his cheek.

“Patrick, now that you saw me on TV and that I'm clearly a superstar, will you do to me again what you did to me the other night?”

He flushed as if he were a teenager, looked around again and leaned closer to her, to prevent anyone from hearing his whisper.

“I will, but you will have to reserve your beautiful voice, tonight there are children at home.”

“Fine, I take the deal,” she smiled, feeling very cheeky.

But Patrick leaned close to her ear.

“Although, since it is Christmas, I have others… gifts to you.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she heard him laugh.

“My superstar deserves all the best, my love,” Patrick said, before going with the others, leaving Shelagh desperate for him, again.


End file.
